Madai
by elenathehun
Summary: The end of the world has come and gone, but he's still here. Sharr Latt and the war. Original post on TF.N 30 Jun 05


**Summary: The end of the world had come and gone, but he's still here. Sharr always did try too hard…**

**Author's Note: Semi-creepy. Just kinda popped out of my head and into the screen. Originally meant to be Jaina died, Kyp committed suicide, and Jag turned into a politician. Along the way, this turned into a story I've been trying to write since the original Interpecies 'ship challenge.**

**Strife:**

**Heated, often violent dissension; bitter conflict.**

**A struggle, fight, or quarrel.**

**Contention or competition between rivals.**

**_Archaic: Earnest endeavor or striving._**

_swswswswswsw_

Sharr trudged through the ruins of the base, clutching his right arm to his side. He was pretty sure that he'd only sprained it, but there was no use breaking it in the meantime. _At least the rubble isn't burning anymore. Thank the maker for small favors_. He's being sarcastic, and he wonders if he would feel better if he could say his stupid comment out loud to Piggy, but then he realizes that Piggy is dead. Has been dead, for the last month and ten days.

Sharr wonders if anyone else survived the last attack.

Sitting on the remains of a bombed-up A-wing, he counts the ships he can salvage from the bay. Four. Maybe five if he's got some help. Of course, that depends on whether there'll _be_ any help. He knows not to depend on Jaina – she's dead. She's been dead three hours, when he watched her gasping breath finally stutter to a halt. From the blisters all over her body, he'd say she was exposed to a chemical weapon of some sort – but this is the 'vong. Nothing is simple with the 'vong.

Either way, Jaina's body is lying on the infirmary bed he dragged her to, and her soul is one with the force – or in hell. He personally thought hell was more likely – she could be rather vindictive to the 'vong civilians. Sharr doesn't know if 'vong blood stains your hands, though.

If it does, he'll be covered up to the elbows in the afterlife.

The first one to straggle in is Durron – no surprise there. After twenty years of doing this, Kyp's got a survival instinct like nobody's business. He'll take care of himself, no matter what. Sharr gives him Jaina's lightsaber. He can do what he wants with it; Sharr has no use for it.

Fel limps in next, favoring his right leg heavily. He has blood on his uniform, and white gleams through the mincemeat of his thigh and knee, and Sharr just _knows_ that's gotta hurt. The Chiss woman he'd come with is behind him, looking relatively whole and healthy compared to Fel. That's not a surprise, though. The major has had three different ships shot out from under her, and she survives without a scratch. Some people have all the luck.

Lowie and Alema come in last – he almost doesn't recognize Piggy's replacement. She's just a bundle of meat and bone in Lowie's arm, streaked with blood and ash. He doesn't think she'll survive another day. He doesn't really care all that much – he disliked her, and had let her know it every moment of the day.

They gather around him, mostly because he looks sane and he got there first.

"I think we got four, maybe five ships to get out of here. We have to work fast – the scarheads may be gone, but their creations are still running around. I think the B-wing over there, the Lambda in the corner, and that trio of Y-wings can still run. I guess we should get to work."

They all stare at him for a moment, then shrug and get to work. He doesn't know when everyone started looking to him for leadership, for strength. All he knows is that it's easier to suck it up then whine about it. Whining doesn't get anything done, and not getting the right things done can be deadly. Lowie leaves Alema with Jag, and the rest of them get to work on the ships.

It only takes a day to get them spaceworthy.

At night, everything looks the same, except darker. They sit in a cluster around the shuttle and light a fire to keep the bigger animals away. The Chiss woman had scrounged some rations up, and if they weren't appetizing, at least they were filling. There weren't any painkillers though, so Jag just watched over Alema and didn't move too much.

"Where will we go from here?"

Of course, pain wouldn't keep Fel from talking. Sharr just shrugs at his question. There's nowhere else to go, and everyone knows it. This was one of the last bases fighting – the rest of the Republic has already surrendered. Durron, of course, says the obvious.

"Nowhere in Republic space we _can_ go."

The group sits quietly and stares at the fire. It's comforting to know that the basic laws of nature haven't changed. Maker knows everything else has.

"There is somewhere else…"

This time is the Chiss woman who speaks. Something in her voice makes him look at her sharply, at her tired red eyes and dirty blue skin. He'd almost forgotten where she'd come from.

"You don't mean…"

She nods jerkily, and Sharr Latt sees her as a real person for the first time, not just another extension of Fel. Not just another Thrawn lookalike.

"Yes, I mean the Unknown Regions. My home. We can set up a base there."

Lowie wails something in his language and they all turn to Kyp for translation.

"He said, 'Will anyone come?'"

Now it's Jag who speaks, looking tired but hopeful. Hopeful. Sharr had almost forgetten the very word.

"Yes, people will come."

"How do you know?" Kyp snaps, and Sharr almost tells him to shut up. Almost.

Jag looks at them calmly, placidly. If you only focused on his face, you wouldn't see the mess of his leg. He'd look almost normal.

"I came, didn't I?"

And because it's true, everyone shuts up.

The next day, they leave. Predictably, Kyp grabs the B-wing. Sharr bites his tongue only because Kyrn told him he'll get a claw-craft when they get to her home. Oh, and the B-wing has no weapon-systems.

They packed Jag and Alema into the shuttle with a computer Lowie had dragged from somewhere. Supposedly, it'll work as navigation. Jag just shrugs and climbs into the pilot seat. Even though Alema is conscious now, she's in no state to pilot. And as Jag put it, oh-so-imperiously, "Nothing short of death could stop me from piloting."

They set off and manage to navigate through the minefield the scarheads left behind. Kyp guided them, but there were some close calls. And once they were through, and had all checked in, they entered the coordinates Kyrn told them and set off.

It took them three hours to get to the first rendezvous point. It took them seven for the second. Two for the last. And then, five hours for the last leg of the jump. Sharr was surprised to note that Chiss Space didn't look much different than Republic space. You learn something new every day.

Jag was right. They came. Chiss, Republican soldiers, smugglers and outlaws – they all came. They all knew it was now or never. The government declared war, and the factories ran, and the newspapers told solemn stories of what happens to a planet when the scarheads conquer it.

Recruitment went up.

First they held the 'vong off, then… then they started _winning_. Another word Sharr had almost forgotten. Year after year, bit by bit, they took back the galaxy. And he just kept flying. He just kept to the skies, because at least he knew what he was doing up there and could help.

Psychological war didn't work. Maybe total war would.

Five years later, five years of death, destruction, and general crappiness, Sharr was alone. Alema and Kyp were dead. Alema had never been all that healthy after the injuries she'd sustained. She'd died of pneumonia a few months after entering Chiss space. Kyp, on the other hand…well, he never gave Jaina's lightsaber up. Just kept using it, right up to the point when some scarhead warmaster jumped the equivalent of 100 tons of explosives on him. They found his skeleton, hands clenched around the rusted remains of his lightsabers. They left the body where it was.

Jag was working. Not flying – you didn't fly when you have a prosthetic leg. Working. His strategy was flawless – people were already hailing him as the Ackbar of his generation. The last time Sharr had seen him, he'd smiled crookedly and said that he'd become what he most feared – a politician.

Lowie went home. He rumbled something about family and work and just up and left, not that anyone could blame him. He done all he could – they couldn't ask for anymore. He'd left some messages. He hadn't left a contact number. Sharr wouldn't be surprised if he never saw him again. The last dozen years had weighed heavily on the Wookiee. If he could gain some peace, Sharr wouldn't begrudge him that.

So Colonel Sharr Latt was the last of Twin Suns squadron. He couldn't say he missed them all that much – he'd never made friends easily. He found the Chiss were his kind of people; they understood the value of intrigue, they understood the value of _thought_. They understood _him_.

"Sharr."

He turns, and smiles at Kyrn. "Yeah?"

"You coming to the party?" A victory celebration. That, more than anything, told him how tired the Chiss were of this war, how deeply they wanted it to be finished.

He shrugs. "Sure, why not?" And then he laughs, because this reminds him of another encounter at Borleias: a somber woman in black, a fair-haired man in primary colors, and an invitation to a party…

"What's so funny?" Kyrn sound mildly offended.

"Oh, I was just thinking how we've changed…" He waves his hand, and it seems to encompass them all: the fair-haired man in black and red, military trim, and the Chiss woman in eye-smarting yellow, hair loose around her face, the soldiers dancing around them both.

She grins, and he laughs, and they walk arm in arm to a victory celebration.

"General, I think I want to form a new squadron."

"Oh?"

"Yeah… a special Ops squadron specifically for routing out the pockets of 'vong still scattered around…"

"This sounds _intriguing_."


End file.
